


Third Wheel

by batmanmonroe



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: FML, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Minor Character Deaths, Multi, spoilers for 1x17 if you haven't gotten there for some reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1890879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batmanmonroe/pseuds/batmanmonroe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy was always there for Bass.  It's a shame he could never be what Bass truly needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Wheel

**Author's Note:**

> Idk man I just had a lot of Jeremy feels.

For Bass, it was just sex. It was just a way to fill the cold, empty space in his bed and quell his paralyzing fear of being alone. It was a pair of arms to hold him, strong fingers to brush sweat-soaked curls from his face, and a deep voice to whisper soothing words in his ear when the pressure and loss became too much. It was the wrong arms, the wrong hands, the wrong voice, but with the right one gone forever, it was better than being alone.

Jeremy knew all of that, even if Bass had ever actually said it out loud. But he stayed; trying with everything in him to keep together the fragments of the heart and mind that son of a bitch had shattered when he’d betrayed them all. It didn’t matter that more often than not, Bass would cry out the wrong name when Jeremy was in bed with him, or that he was always cold and distant during the waking hours when they could only be president and captain. Jeremy continued to stay right at Bass’s side out of loyalty, gratitude, and something deeper that he kept locked away in the deep recesses of his heart. Bass couldn’t know—he would never feel the same way. He was too devoted to a man who Jeremy would swear before God and the Devil never actually loved him back.

It started off good between them. Bass and Miles had saved Jeremy from being beaten to death by looters when he was just an attorney from Vancouver, stranded in South Carolina when the Blackout caught him by surprise at the tail end of a business trip. With no fighting skills whatsoever and very little knowledge of the wilderness, Jeremy had been sure he’d be a goner even before the looters came. But Miles killed his attackers, and the two of them took him in, nursed him back to health, and taught him to survive.

During that time, Jeremy was completely overtaken by the beauty of Bass’s soft, sweet blue eyes (and developed quite a soft spot for Miles’ carefully guarded brown ones as well). And so, he remained steadfastly at their sides, through victories and massacres, through vicious winters and brutal summers. He was there to console Bass after a particularly heated fight had led to him and Miles breaking up for a while. He—not Miles—was the first to console him after the woman who stole Bass’s heart when Jeremy’s back was turned took Bass’s newborn daughter with her to the next life. 

After Shelly, the soft sweetness that Jeremy had fallen for took on a hard edge. Miles came back into the picture, which gave Bass the rock he’d been desperately scrambling to hold onto. But things were different now. They moved from being leaders of a ragtag bunch of refugees to a well-oiled killing machine, slaughtering rival militia like animals without batting an eye. Bass, who’d been against killing the looters who were killing Jeremy, now shot people between the eyes with the same manic grin and deadly accuracy that Miles would tear peoples’ guts out. It was terrifying to watch… but Jeremy couldn’t look away.

Even when Miles corrupted Bass, and drove him to become this… thing, Bass looked at Miles like he hung the sun and moon. Jeremy learned pretty early on that there were decades of history between them that culminated in the grunts and moans and screams that the rest of the Militia pretended not to hear. That didn’t make it any easier to take the fact that Bass thought of Jeremy as a friend, nothing more. Sure, they let him share their bed more than once, and Jeremy coveted those moments when he could press up against Bass’s bare, muscular back while Bass was curled into Miles. But he wasn’t stupid enough to think those were for anyone but them. He was only passing through.

Suddenly, three years after the rise of the Republic, Miles stopped talking almost completely. He was neglecting his duties, and Bass threw himself into the violence and brutality that Miles had taught him in a last ditch effort to win Miles back. The whole population suffered as Bass fought vainly to bring Miles back, ignoring all Jeremy’s warnings that _this is not how to get your boyfriend to talk to you._

But even though Jeremy saw the relationship shattering, and knew that for his own sanity, Bass had to let go, what happened blindsided even him. Miles didn’t just walk out, leaving Bass alone with a whole country of mouths to feed. No, Jeremy had expected that. What he hadn’t expected was for Miles to disappear for nearly a year leaving everyone with no idea that he was mobilizing a band of rebels and traitors to cover his sorry ass. He really hadn’t expected what happened when he finally returned.

Jeremy woke that night to the sound of gunshots outside Bass’s bedroom. Cursing as he yanked on his uniform, he bolted upstairs to find Captain Neville standing over two bodies. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, not even bothering to hide the horror in his face.

“Matheson finally came back,” Neville said smoothly. “Seems there was a little more trouble in paradise than we thought. He put a gun to Monroe’s head.” He smirked, drinking in the panic in Jeremy’s face for several long moments before continuing. “Couldn’t do it, of course, but Monroe’s all shook up. Guess that’s not why he thought Miles was in his bedroom.” Jeremy shoved past him, stepping over the bodies of the cadets who’d been guarding the door until their incompetence had gotten them killed. Damn kids.

“Sir?” Jeremy asked tentatively, stepping into the too-silent room. He found Bass at his ornate wooden desk, with a glass of Miles’ favorite whiskey in one hand. The mostly-empty bottle sat in front of him, and from his other hand dangled the thing that made Jeremy’s heart stop. A loaded handgun.

As for Monroe himself, he was sitting so still and glassy-eyed that at first Jeremy thought Neville had lied and Miles had succeeded. But there was no blood on Monroe’s body, and upon closer inspection, fresh tears were still dripping down his face. His blue eyes were clouded with drink and pain and staring blankly at the still-open window where Miles must have escaped. “Sir?” Jeremy repeated. Bass’s slowly turned his head, struggling to focus on his friend. To someone who didn’t know better, Bass’s face seemed calm except for the tears, but Jeremy could see how lost and broken he really was.

“He was the only thing keeping me going,” Bass mumbled. He was slurring so badly that Jeremy had to strain to understand him. “The Republic, all of it, was just to make him happy.” His voice broke, and he slumped towards the gun. “And he... he left. I don’t know what I did. I don’t know why he wouldn’t… wouldn't talk to me. I’ve got nothing left… I’ve got nothing left.” Jeremy’s hand lashed out to stop Bass’s from closing around the cold metal.

“Bass,” Jeremy said softly, keeping his hand over the other man’s trembling one. “Give me the gun. Before you do something stupid.” Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say. Bass jerked to life as if he’d been electrocuted, and violent sobs tore from his throat.

“I got nothing left,” he repeated, keening. He clung to the gun even as Jeremy’s fought to pry his fingers off it. “I got nothing left. He was all I had. I loved him. I still love him. And he’s just… he’s gone.” He struggled to free his hand from Jeremy’s iron grasp. “What do I have to live for? I got nothing.”

Jeremy finally forced Bass’s hand open and snatched the gun away to shove it into his own waistband. His hand went right back over Bass’s, this time giving it a gentle, comforting squeeze. “You’ve got me,” he murmured. Steely gray eyes locked onto red-rimmed blue. He held up his free hand. “It’s not the same, I got that. But I’m not goin’ anywhere.” In spite of himself, Jeremy’s hands trembled just as badly as Bass’s. “There are a lot of people counting on you here, Bass. You can’t check out now. I’m gonna help you through this.” Bass leaned closer, and Jeremy could see every tear sparkling on his eyelashes. “The Republic needs you… I need you.”

He hadn’t meant to say the last part out loud, but he did. Before he knew it, Bass had smashed his mouth over his own, melting against him and clinging to him like a drowning man to a life ring. Jeremy held on as he returned the kiss, rubbing his back and holding him up until Bass started pushing him towards the massive four-poster bed. Bass’s needy hands tore at the buttons of their uniforms until he finally pressed his bare body to Jeremy’s below him.

Jeremy let Bass dictate their every move, though he reciprocated each with a passion that matched Bass’s desperation. His mouth tasted like tears, his body was shaking long before the end, and Jeremy was sure there was something wrong with fucking a man who was so badly shaken by what his wayward lover had done to him. But he didn’t care about any of that, even if Bass was chanting “Miles, Miles, _Miles!_ ” After the President collapsed over Jeremy’s body in a tangle of sweaty limbs, he pressed a kiss to Jeremy’s shoulder and whispered, “Please don’t go.” And how could Jeremy go anywhere after that?

 

It lasted for years. At the end of a stressful day of battles and planning and obsessing over Miles, Bass would get drunk off his ass, Jeremy would console him, and they would fall into bed. But Bass was continuing to deteriorate even with Jeremy’s help, and the Republic was getting dragged down with him. Jeremy struggled to repair what was left of his psyche and fill in the empty space that that son-of-a-bitch had left in Bass’s life, but it was a lost cause. Jeremy tried everything, up to and including tracking down a rebel base, getting himself captured by Matheson himself (he didn’t care what the men said, that was intentional, really) and trying to convince him to come back. But the rebels had blown up their bridge and Matheson had run off. He hadn’t told Monroe about that.

Jeremy hadn’t thought it possible for things to get worse. But Miles finally returned to Philadelphia and confronted Monroe in the abandoned power plant. Bass begged and begged Miles to come home, with tears in his eyes. Miles didn’t just practically spit in Bass’s face; he tried to kill him again. Standing orders be damned, Jeremy had taken one look at the wild, agonized look on Bass’s face and been more than willing to carve out Miles’ guts one by one. Fortunately for Jeremy, as Rachel Matheson’s amplifier powered on and a helicopter whirred into the air, Bass snarled out the order that Miles had had coming for five years. His eyes were mad and his face was bloody, but Bass finally snarled, “Kill him.” After everything Miles had done, Jeremy was only too happy to oblige, but they’d escaped again.

After that, Bass didn’t even try to distract himself with sex anymore. He spent every moment until he passed out from whiskey coming up with more and more drastic ideas of how to capture or kill Miles. Jeremy could only stand back and watch helplessly as the body count inside and outside the Militia mounted higher, as more and more officers defected. His advice went ignored, his friendship went forgotten, and his love festered in his heart as Bass fixated on a man who’d been gone for years. Bass torched his own hometown, got his former girlfriend murdered, and was rewarded for it by several more escapes by Miles and his rebel friends. Yet through it all, Jeremy still believed that Bass could be saved. It was just a matter of reaching him.

No one had seen Bass for weeks, not even Jeremy. But Jeremy couldn’t just sit back and let Bass do this to himself. He and his men had just launched a successful drone strike on the rebel camp, and that led to an opening for something that, while it wouldn’t fix Bass, it would help distract him for a little while. A victory party was a victory party.

He let himself into the President’s office and smiled at him. “Sir,” he said with a salute. He’d never had to use the honorific in private until recently, but it made Bass feel better to see the show of loyalty and respect. There weren’t many people who treated him that way anymore. “I have news from the Georgian front. The drone strike was successful.” There was no response. Bass didn’t even turn around to look at him. Jeremy continued. “More than successful, actually. Their camp’s in ruins, they’re all scattered, or dead. This is better than we could have hoped for; the drones are mowing down the Georgian and rebel forces. Sir, we’re winning!”

Bass was silent for a moment. “And what about Miles?” he whispered.

“Huh?” was Jeremy’s stunned response. _How_ did the man manage to make a _drone strike_ about his ex? “Well… I doubt he survived.” He watched Bass’s face, but the tense lines of his body didn’t change at all.

“I’ll believe that when I see it, Captain,” Bass hissed.

Jeremy raised his eyes to the sky. He loved Bass, he did, but his obsession with Miles was infuriating sometimes. “Yeah, but even if he did, he’s not gonna have the men to command! Sir, it’s in the bag.” He knew this wasn’t about the war, not really, because with Bass, everything was about Miles. But Jeremy was trying so hard to get him to focus, and not gaze forlornly at the floor with so much pain and hurt in his blue eyes that it broke Jeremy’s heart. “Look…” Jeremy sighed, his voice dropping low and soothing. “There’s a few of us who are celebrating across the street. It would mean a lot to us if you came and had a drink.” It would mean a lot to Jeremy.

Bass hesitated, but he turned away. “I can’t, I got my hands full.”

Yeah, he wasn’t going to give up that easily, not when Bass hadn’t left his office since the fiasco in Jasper. Granted, he’d been recovering from a gunshot wound for most of that, but this still wasn’t healthy. “I am one of your oldest friends, right?” _And we banged for five years before you pushed me away to sulk about your ex-boyfriend?_

“Uh-huh,” Bass mumbled, still not looking at him.

“May I speak as one, instead of the dashing officer that I am?” Jeremy grinned, but Bass’s face still didn’t change.

“Of course.”

“You’ve worked for this. You can take a moment and enjoy it,” Jeremy pressed. His gray eyes stayed on Bass’s face as the president finally lifted his eyes to look at him. Bass was studying him, drinking in the worry on his face. “You shouldn’t be cooped up here like some kind of recluse.” Jeremy’s smile widened, and he joked, “You’re not peeing in jars, are you?” 

Finally, for the first time since Miles had left, Bass laughed. Jeremy’s heart soared to see that smile lighting his blue eyes. It was a good sign, that maybe, just maybe Bass could move on from that son of a bitch and overcome this paranoia and depression that was killing him and the country. “One drink,” Jeremy pressed. “One.” Bass slowly stepped out from behind the desk, and Jeremy led him out to meet the other soldiers.

That was when things went horribly, horribly wrong. Jeremy bent to say something in Bass’s ear that the others wouldn’t be able to hear, and the sky erupted with gunfire. The soldiers who weren’t killed shoved Bass down behind the cover of a wall, and more of their brothers in arms flooded out of the building to protect the President and get him to safety.

Jeremy wasn’t so lucky. No one would protect a lowly Captain, even if he was the president’s friend and stand-in lover. He ducked down, of course, but he couldn’t get behind the wall, and he was right out in the middle of the street. And the snipers didn’t spare him a glance.

The other soldiers ran up to the wall, shooting blindly at the hidden shooter, and Jeremy ushered Bass inside. “You okay, sir? You’re not hit?” he called over the commotion. Bass didn’t answer, but he was walking and not bleeding. Jeremy only dared to breathe when they were safely inside Bass’s office. He hurried out to deal with the situation, promising Bass that he’d be back when they knew more about what had happened. He didn’t realize what a mistake that was until several hours later, when he returned.

“The whole city’s locked down, we got about a dozen suspects we’re looking at,” Jeremy informed him after saluting. “We’ll find him, sir.”

Bass poured two glasses of whiskey from the fancy decanter that held Miles’ poison of choice even now. “You know, we never got that drink.” The calm in his voice sent a chill up Jeremy’s spine. He’d learned to recognize that as a warning sign. He nodded, rubbing his temples. “Here,” Bass continued, handing Jeremy a glass that Jeremy took gratefully. It didn’t smell off, like it had been poisoned, and Bass was drinking his.

“This is a mess,” Jeremy groaned. “And I’m sorry about this.” This wasn’t supposed to be how their celebration went.

“That’s all right,” Bass said. His tone was cheerful, which was even less reassuring than the calm. “It’s a miracle we didn’t get hit.”

“Mmm, you can say that again,” Jeremy agreed, still wary of Bass.

When Bass spoke again, it was choppy and stammering, which Jeremy knew only happened when his paranoia was out of control. He repeated words and started and stopped the sentence, as his shattered mind fought to process. Jeremy took a step towards him. “I mean… I was… I was lucky. I had cover. But you, you had, ah… nothing. You were… totally exposed. You didn’t get hit once.”

Jeremy chose his words carefully to offer comfort but not frighten Bass more. When he got like this, he was something like a wounded animal- he needed help and pity but one wrong move could make him lash out and prove fatal. “He was a lousy shot, thank God.” Bass took a long, deep swig from his glass, and Jeremy didn’t take his eyes off him.

“Well, he was waiting right outside the bar.” Oh, this was bad. Jeremy knew what Bass was insinuating, but protesting only ever made things worse for everyone else Bass had killed for a slight that didn’t happen.

“Or he followed you there, sir.” For a solid minute, the only sound in the office was the ticking of Bass’s antique grandfather clock. Jeremy weighed his options. Normally, if Bass could be talked down from this, it was Jeremy’s advice that didn’t, but that wouldn’t work when Jeremy was the one Bass was suspecting. Maybe it would be better to just leave the presence of the blue eyes lasering into him as if trying to see into his soul and find out what really happened. Just until they found the actual shooter. 

Jeremy set his glass onto the table and turned away from the piercing glare Bass was giving him. “Thank you for the drink,” he said lightly. “If I find out anything, I’ll let you know.” The guards stepped in front of the door. The one with the gun held it higher, and Jeremy’s eyes widened. Yes, Bass had been worrying him, but after everything Jeremy had done, he’d at least expected a trial before the firing squad. He’d expected a chance. “What’s this?”

“You led me there,” Bass whispered. “You were totally exposed, and you didn’t get hit.” _Oh, god, Bass, please… not me. Not me too._

“So it would have been better if I got shot?” Jeremy asked in disbelief. He knew Bass didn’t love him like he did Miles, like Jeremy loved Bass, but he thought he’d meant more to him than that. He thought his friendship and counsel and loyalty had meant enough for Bass not to wish him dead. Or worse… order him dead. “I didn’t have anything to do with this!” He cursed himself. Those words were a death sentence.

“What am I supposed to think?” Bass hissed.

Desperation edged into his voice. “That it was a Georgian, or a rebel, or anyone but the only friend you have left in the world!” There was only one person in the world who still loved Bass, even as he slipped deeper and deeper into his insanity. And Bass was about to kill him and bring his own worst fear to light.

Bass’s response made Jeremy’s blood run cold. “It wouldn’t be the first time a friend tried to kill me.”

His eyes were so cold, so empty of the Bass Jeremy had fallen for eight years ago, that a dam broke inside Jeremy. “Wow… Miles did a number on you,” he sneered. “Okay. All right. Somebody’s gotta say it, so I’ll say it.” He should have said it years ago, but he was trying to spare Bass’s feelings and not make things worse. Look how well that turned out. “You wanna know why Neville and Miles betrayed you? Because you made them.” The truth hung heavy in the air, pressing as hard on Jeremy’s shoulders as he wanted it to press on Bass.

“I made them?” Bass repeated, mystified. Jeremy couldn’t stand to look at those hollow eyes. How could he not see all that nothing? Was he so blinded by love that he hadn’t seen the Bass who had saved him disappearing and leaving behind only the empty, monstrous shell of Monroe?

“That’s right, you did.” Jeremy should have fought harder, should have saved him from himself, should have seen this coming, goddammit. But it was too late, and B— _Monroe_ was past help. Nothing could stop the fate Monroe had for Jeremy.

Well, might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.

“They were loyal to you!” Jeremy cried. “ _Miles_ was loyal to you at first, but you were so paranoid and brutal and unhinged that you pushed them away!” And Jeremy had never, never been anything but loyal to him. He’d never left Bass’s side, he’d taken care of him, he’d tried to help him forget for a little while when they were alone in the dark. And where had that gotten him? Right fucking here, with the armed guard stepping forward.

And still Jeremy continued his tirade. If he was going to die, he was at least going to die saying what Monroe needed to hear if he was ever going to be Bass again. If he could ever be Bass again. “Officers dropping around me like flies and I stuck around! Why?” _Because I couldn’t leave you alone like that._ “Because I believed we were trying to build a better world! What a fool am I!” He struck his forehead with his palm. He should have tried to pull Bass back, because this? This wasn’t a better world, for anyone. Least of all Monroe.

Jeremy’s voice dropped to a whisper, and his grey eyes, always so full of love, locked onto blue ones, full of nothing. “You know what? You probably will take over the continent,” he murmured, resisting the urge to touch Monroe’s face, or kiss his lips. Because this wasn’t the man he’d been sleeping with, or trying to comfort. This was a monster. He should have seen it coming. “But you’re gonna do it alone, and you’re gonna suspect everyone around you, and friend—I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

There was a pause, and Jeremy waited for the bullet to slam between his eyes. But Monroe only smiled like a shark. “Thank you, Jeremy,” he whispered. “Thank you for telling me the truth.” He turned is back on the last person who cared, and walked through the double doors.

The armed guard raised his gun, but Jeremy had learned something from Miles and Bass all those years ago, when things were still good. He wasn’t going down without a fight. The unarmed guard pulled Jeremy’s arm behind his back, but he was young and weak, and Jeremy had no problem wrenching away to duck when the executioner fired. The bullet tore through the boy’s face, splattering the office with blood and brain. The executioner tossed his gun aside—he must have only been given one bullet.

Heartened, Jeremy grappled with the remaining guard. He was far more skilled than the kid, but Jeremy still managed to snap his neck with a sickening crack. It wouldn’t be too long before they came for Jeremy’s corpse—he had to get out of here before Monroe found out what happened. He smiled wistfully as he wrenched the window open. Guess he was a fugitive now.

He ran from Independence Hall, with no set destination in mind. Maybe he’d go home to Canada, he mused. But as he turned north, his mind was preoccupied with Monroe. He hoped that one day, he’d find peace and recover. He hoped he could put what was left of his mind back together, and he hoped he’d listen to what Jeremy had said. He hoped he could be Bass again, and when he was, Jeremy would come back. He’d be paying close attention to the news from Philly, and when he knew Monroe wouldn’t finish the job, he’d come back. But for now, he knew how he felt. 

“Well, you were right, boss,” he muttered to the empty air. “It hurts like a son-of-a-bitch when the person you love betrays you.”


End file.
